


5 Things Arthur and Eames Do When They're Bored

by Inspire_me_to_breathe



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: 5 Things, Crack, Fluff, Humour, M/M, cuteness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-20
Updated: 2014-04-10
Packaged: 2018-01-13 05:06:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 2,975
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1213828
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Inspire_me_to_breathe/pseuds/Inspire_me_to_breathe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Even when you're an international criminal, life can get boring. </p><p>Luckily, Eames and Arthur know exactly how to liven things up again.</p><p> </p><p>(Last instalment finished!)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Hangman

**Author's Note:**

  * For [foxriverinmate](https://archiveofourown.org/users/foxriverinmate/gifts).



> This came about because of a few random comments featuring an awful pick up line, my confession of undying love to a stranger and some very quick escalation.
> 
> And, yes, I can count. First three parts are posted. The last two shall be with us shortly.
> 
> Hope you enjoy! <3

Arthur stares at the paperwork. He’s already arranged it within an inch of its life. It’s been chronological, alphabetical and now, finally, it’s categorised according to how much of a shit Arthur gives about it.

Which is actually very little.

The truth is, this job is _boring._ It’s an easy extraction, no militarisation, and the stakes are lower than Arthur’s current tolerance for incompetency. That being because this job is so easy even a complete novice would look like a seasoned professional if they wandered in now and started sticking PASIV lines into people.

But Arthur’s not with novices. It’s just him, Eames, Dom and Mal. The Dream Team.

Except it’s not a dream. Mal and Dom are busy being (rather selfishly, in Arthur’s opinion) maddeningly in love. And Eames is googling porn.

Arthur considers knocking all the paperwork onto the floor so he has to re-sort it again just for _something_ to do, but he refrains because the floor is dirty and hand sanitizer doesn’t work so well on paper.

“Eames,” he whines, suddenly and impulsively, “Play a game with me.”

Eames looks up, startles a bit and automatically snaps his laptop closed. Arthur rolls his eyes, while maintaining the puppy-dog expression.

“What do you want to play?” Eames smirks, settling on the chair so his hands rest behind his head.

“Hangman.” Arthur pushes a sheet of plain paper towards the other man, offering him a pen too. Eames takes it with caution. The last time Arthur gave him something it was a black eye.

“Okay,” he says as he scribbles down some dashes. “Guess a letter.”

_ _ _ / _ _ _ _ / _ _ _ _ _

Arthur studies the number of lines, the way they’ve been split up, and makes an educated guess based on his intimate knowledge of Eames’ personality. “ _You suck balls._ ”

Eames grins, “Charming, darling, but that’s not it. I’m afraid I’m going to have to count that as wrong letters.”

Arthur frowns, knowing that his competitive side won’t allow the immediate loss of nine tries. Damn – that would be a whole hangman, so he blurts out, “It wasn’t a guess. I meant it.”

The attempt to save himself is poor but Eames finds it amusing.

He chuckles, “Okay then, what’s your first guess?”

“E.” The most popular letter in the English language. Arthur likes it. It’s dependable.

Eames drops in the required ‘E’s and then slides the paper back across to Arthur.

_ _ _ / _ _ _ E / E _ _ _ E _

Arthur narrows his eyes. “Eames.” He says slowly.

“Yes?” Eames inquires.

“No. _Eames._ That’s the last word.”

“Yes, it is!” Eames beams and quickly scrawls in the new addition.

“Have you written it in third person?” Arthur asks, gazing intently at the lines.

“Maybe.”

Arthur raises an eyebrow but doesn’t comment on what that suggests about the other man’s inflated sense of self-importance.

_ _ _ / _ _ _ E / EAMES

“Well, “ Arthur chews his lip, mentally donning a deer-stalker as he considers the remaining clues. “You've placed yourself as the object of the sentence, which means we need a verb and a subject.”

“Oh, wouldn’t you just _love_ to objectify me.” Eames leers, earning himself a hard look from Arthur.

“Could be a person’s name. Dom or Mal would both fit.” Arthur struggles to reason why Dom or Mal would do any four-letter-worded verb to Eames. “But then we’d need an ‘s’ on the end to conjugate the verb, so the subject must be in the second person.” He raises his eyes to Eames triumphantly, “ _You._ ”

“I didn’t follow that at all, and therefore I have no idea how you worked that out, Arthur, but _you_ is correct.” Eames confirms, feeling slightly nonplussed.

YOU / _ _ _E / EAMES

“ _H_?” Arthur tries unsuccessfully as Eames takes delight in drawing a little platform for the gallows.

“You don’t hate me, Arthur,” sniggers Eames, as if this is the most obvious thing in the world.

“Of course not,” Arthur deadpans.

They sit in silence for a while. Arthur thinks intently, while Eames wriggles in his seat in anticipation.

“Oh, come on, Arthur!” He finally sighs, “It’s obvious.”

“Hmm.” Comes the noncommittal reply.

Eventually, with deliberate slowness, Arthur reaches for the piece of paper, steals the pen off Eames and fills in the blanks.

YOU / LOVE / EAMES

Arthur stares at it for a while, before suddenly scribbling it out. “No, there’s no way that’s right.”

Eames looks crestfallen.

“Oh, alright!” Arthur laughs at his expression, “Fine. I love you.”

The beam is back in place, “I knew it all along.”


	2. Trains and Telepathy

Although long journeys can offer several benefits – such as finding the time to hide the body of man who attacked you in the plane toilet – Eames has no dead bodies to dispose of today and is therefore finding the train ride extremely boring.

He briefly considers going on a killing spree. Just because.

However, the sharp look he receives off Arthur stops the idea before it gains any real substance, which is probably a good thing, except it proves his theory that Arthur can read his mind.

Arthur has returned to reading a Russian newspaper. He would look the picture of elegance if it weren’t for the fact that they are squashed into standard class with a bunch of commuting Russian peasants (no racism intended). So Eames decides to test the theory a little bit more.

He narrows his eyes and stares intently at his target. If Arthur notices, he does a fine job of not reacting – maybe because he’s used to Eames watching him with all the enthusiasm of a serial killer.

Whatever. The point is, this is a perfect opportunity to try some basic telepathy. 

Eames thinks hard.

Arthur’s right eye twitches.

Success! Eames celebrates mentally for a second, and then pushes on with the experiment.

_Arthur, you look like a constipated frog._

Arthur frowns slightly, turning a page.

_Arthur, your hair is coming loose of the pomade._

One hand reaches up to slick back the rebelling strands.

_Arthur, last night I had an unsettling dream where you and Ariadne were making out. It was awful._

Eames thinks Arthur is grinning now.

_Arthur, can you read my mind? Because that would be awesome. We could discuss people while standing right in front of them. Ha! Suck on that, Dom. My connection with Arthur runs way deeper than yours._

Arthur glances up from the newspaper, “What are you doing, Eames?”

“Nothing. Passing time,” Eames says, while simultaneously thinking _That’s right, Arthur. We can’t let anyone know about this mind reading thing._

“You look like you’re planning on some form of artistic homicide.”

“Anything for you, love.” _Who do you want me to kill? Just give me a name._

“Save your energy for the meeting with Dom tonight.”

 _Is that code for kill Dom tonight? You have to be more specific._ “Where is that happening again?”

“At the hotel we stayed in last year.”

_Can we have sex there?_

“No, Eames, we’re not having sex at the hotel.”

“Arthur!” Eames beams wildly, “You _can_ read my thoughts!”

“No, I can’t, Eames,” Arthur smirks, a little condescending, “You actually said that sentence out loud.”


	3. Darling

“We’ve been here for three hours. You think the mark would have opened his front door by now.” Eames grumbles, throwing the binoculars down in distaste. “This is boring.”

“It’s part of the job,” Arthur reasons, while secretly agreeing with the forger. “He’ll show his face soon enough.”

In response, Eames huffs moodily and slides further down in his seat, so that he can barely see over the dashboard.

Arthur begins daydreaming about his coffee machine. He couldn’t wait to get back to the warehouse. There he’d have a nice hot cappuccino, or maybe something a little more exotic. Yeah. Dark, roasted coffee beans. Creamy milk. Almost scalding his tongue-

Suddenly the radio clicks on, forcing Arthur back to real life and its disappointing lack of coffee.

Eames is humming along to flickers of songs as he tunes the radio, searching for a good station. Arthur scowls at the interruption and resolves to sink back into his coffee day dreams, regardless of how annoying Eames is capable of being.

Finally, Eames settles on a station, and the song fills the rental car.

“You’ll wear the battery down,” Arthur points out mildly, already half submerged in coffee dreams.

And then suddenly, the whole car is hit with the opening lines.

_Shot through the heart and you’re to blame!_

Arthur knows what’s coming next.

Right on cue, Eames grabs his hand and sings joyfully “ _Darling, you give lo-o-ve a BAD name!”_

And then he’s moshing. Which is an incredible feat in itself because moshing requires long hair, lots of room and some sense of co-ordination – none of which Eames possesses.

He’s even doing the guitar solo; _Duhn-dun dun-nun-a-nun-nun duhn-nun dun-dun-a-nuhn_

Arthur rolls his eyes, reluctantly amused, because he’d be lying if he said that Eames playing air guitar isn’t the funniest thing he’d seen in a long, long time.

“ _An angel’s smile is what you sell. You promise me heaven then put me through hell. Chains of love got a hold on me. When passion’s a prison, you can’t break free.”_

Eames is shimming about in his seat, pulling anguished faces as he emotionally tears his way through the lyrics. Then his eyes snap to Arthur’s, glinting teasingly, and before Arthur can stop himself, he joins in with the ‘w _hoa!_ ”. And hits the harmony perfectly, thank you very much.

“ _You’re a loaded gun.”_ Eames lets Arthur have that line as a solo, and is beaming so wickedly that Arthur doesn’t feel too embarrassed.

“ _Ohhh... There’s nowhere to run.”_ Sings Eames loudly.

Arthur matches him _. “No one can save me.”_

And they both shriek together, _“The damage is done!”_

_“Shot through the heart and you’re to blame, (darling), you give lo-o-ve a bad name!”_

Arthur notices how Eames sneaks the extra ‘darling’ in there.

_“I play my part and you play-”_

“Ah, shit!” Arthur slams off the radio. “The mark just walked past.”


	4. Do Not Attempt This at Home

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it took so long. Life, you know?

It is common knowledge that life-or-death chases are fun when you’re on them, but the minute it’s over you’re left squatting in a damp safe house with nothing to do accept try to avoid Dom’s accusatory squints.

And this is the position in which Arthur finds himself.

Across the room Eames is pacing, his long legs cover the distance in three strides before he turns on heel and retraces his steps.

“Sit down, Eames. You’re making me dizzy.” Arthur tells him wearily, and, to his surprise, the forger does as he’s told, albeit with a raised eyebrow.

Dom starts muttering under his breath about responsibilities and preparation and why the fuck didn’t Arthur check?

Arthur closes his eyes painfully, trying to block out the torrent of criticism, but another sound comes to his attention; the gentle patting of two soft surfaces colliding with some force. It happens again, and again, continuously as Arthur’s eyes shoot open to search for its source.

Eames is juggling.

The balls are traditionally-designed in all the primary colours but are also lumpy and a little too worn. Arthur finds them aesthetically unpleasing.

“Stop that.” He snaps.

Eames laughs and casts them higher. They loop through the air wildly, almost straying too far off course.

“Stop that.” Arthur growls again.

The balls curve higher.

Eames is enjoying himself and even Dom is entranced enough to forget to mutter.

One ball flies up too far and is out of orbit. For a second it hangs in the air and then – BANG – the Arthur's bullet tears through and it explodes into a firework of dried beans, raining down upon Eames’ head.

“What the fuck, Arthur?” Eames drops the other two balls and glares at the offending firearm which is still directed towards him.

“I told you to stop.” Arthur bites out.

Eames pouts and actually turns his back on the other man.

Dom resumes muttering.

Arthur sighs.

“Here.” He walks across to Eames and hands him the gun. “I have a new game.”

Eames is intrigued and slowly turns to face Arthur.

“What?” He asks as he takes the proffered gun.

“Give me the juggling balls. You’re not emotionally attached to them, are you?”

“Not particularly.”

“Good.”

Arthur pulls Eames up by his arm into a standing position, and then paces backwards away from him.

“Point and shoot.” He advises, before tossing one juggling ball up into the air.

Eames catches on immediately, his whole face lighting up, as he whips out the gun and neatly shoots the moving ball mid-air.

“Yes!” Eames whoops in celebration and Arthur can’t help but smile.

“Ready for another?”

“Don’t you want a go?”

Arthur is momentarily taken aback by Eames’ consideration, but he brushes it aside.

“No. It’s your ball.”

The third ball is released and Eames fires again. He misses and a patch is torn out of the ceiling.

“Oops.”

Arthur deftly catches the still-intact ball.

“Maybe we _shouldn’t_ risk collapsing the roof.” He muses.

Eames nods in agreement and takes the ball off him. He then walks to the other side of the room, smiles cockily, and then balances it on his head.

“Better?”

“Much.”

As Arthur takes aim he can’t help but wonder when it was exactly that Eames began to trust him with his life. The absurd situation they now find themselves in suggests it happened a long, long time ago.

Likewise, Eames attempts not to fidget while wondering from which side of the family his sudden suicidal tendencies had been inherited from. Maybe his mother’s.

Arthur pulls the trigger, hardly daring to breathe. The beanbag explodes without taking any of Eames’ face with it.

“Wow.” Arthur laughs shakily, “I really didn’t think that would end well.”

They high-five, much to Dom's disapproval. 

And the best thing, Eames thinks gleefully, is not that he was still alive, but that Arthur still had dried beans in his hair.

 


	5. It's an Arms Race

Cobb is talking.

Of course he is. He always is.

Eames groans and leans back against his chair, shifting his legs into a more comfortable position. He accidentally brushes Arthur’s arm with his own and the point man glances up at him automatically, but Eames keeps his eyes focused on Cobb and tries not to get distracted because Cobb is talking about important things and he should listen but is Arthur wearing a new tie Cobb keeps talking something about forging that’s important he should have listened to that hmm Arthur smells nice really nice and sexy.

Cobb is talking.

Arthur is sexy.

Eames’ eyes flicker across of their own accord and he sees Arthur smile softly, almost as if he can hear Eames’ erratic thoughts. Eames smirks back and the other man’s eyes light up in challenge.

Cobb talks, oblivious.

Sneakily, Eames twists his chair to the right so his knee knocks against Arthur’s. The point man looks down and back up in a questioning manner, and, in response, Eames proceeds to gently direct his leg until it’s pressed up against Arthur’s. Then he rubs slightly and Arthur tries not to laugh.

It’s already turned into a game of one-upmanship. Despite the exposed nature of the open semi-circle of chairs in which he and Eames are just two of the five participants, Arthur decides it’s a good idea to let his hand rest nonchalantly over Eames’ forearm.

Eames’ hand flips over lightning fast to capture Arthur’s in a death grip.

At this, Ariadne shoots them an amused look, which Eames mirrors even as Arthur squirms his fingers out from their captivity. Once free, he wriggles them slightly in order to encourage blood back into his fingertips.

Cobb hasn’t even noticed, and this emboldens Eames.

He lifts his leg up and purposefully drapes it over Arthur’s thigh, smiling at the contact. Arthur glares at him and tries to surreptitiously shift the weight off, but to no avail because Eames is leaning against him and is practically on his lap.

Ariadne muffles her giggles, catching Yusuf’s attention. He glances at the scene Eames and Arthur are making and offers them a small frown, obviously feeling self-righteously professional. Arthur sighs dramatically in a _what can you do?_ kind of way and Yusuf shoots him a sympathetic look, as if, he too, has been subject to Eames’ overt affections.

Cobb keeps talking.

Arthur deems it necessary to find a pen and start drawing miniature penises on Eames’ arm. He guesses the scale is 1:1, and resolves to inform Eames of this once Cobb stops talking. For now, Eames seems to be enjoying the attention, and the mini-cock tattoos. Knowing him, he’d get them inked on permanently.

Ariadne catches Arthur’s eye and she mimes a unicorn with one finger creating the horn on her forehead. Arthur nods agreeably and traces a small horse on the end of one of the cocks, then goes a step further and gives the phallic unicorn a pair of feathery wings. He looks pleased with himself. Eames does too.

Cobb has gone off on a tangent about spandrels. Whatever the fuck they are. Actually, Arthur _knows_ what they are, because Cobb has lectured him on the significance of spandrels before.

Taking advantage of Arthur’s temporary distraction, Eames snatches the pen from him and the point man instinctively lurches for it, but somehow ends up sprawled across Eames’ lap with his chair spinning across the concrete. Eames bursts out laughing; prematurely, it turns out, because the second-hand office chairs can’t cope with the weight of two full grown men all of a sudden and collapses.

Cobb stops talking. He sees Arthur and Eames rolling about at his feet – playfully attempting to kick the other in the ribs and/or face – and squints accusingly at them.

“Were you guys even listening?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, that's five. Hope you enjoyed them!

**Author's Note:**

> Please leave kudos/comment if you liked!


End file.
